Caliber
by Meiveva Sirenice
Summary: The one time Q leaves the office, he's nearly kidnapped. Now he, Bond, and the girl he was supposed to be meeting are running for their lives while trying to discover who infiltrated MI6 and what they want with Q. Q/OC, Q/Bond Friendship.


Q stepped into the dark apartment and leaned back against the door. He closed his eyes, eyelids burning from staring at a computer screen all day. He had spent all day in the finishing stages of autopsying the carcass that was Silva's mainframe. Rubbing his eyes, he shrugged out of his coat and kicked off his shoes. He took his briefcase and shuffled over to the couch, sinking into the cushions. His eyes were already damaged—what would another hour or so do?

Q pulled his laptop and headset out of his briefcase. In a matter of seconds, he was engrossed in his game, his fighter jet stirring up dust clouds in the Dashti Margo.

"You finally made it," a familiar voice crackled over the headset.

Q grinned. "Did you miss me?"

"Only a little," she teased. "You miss me?"

"Oh, of course."

"On your left."

Q spun his plane around and blasted his enemy out of the sky. "That is why I miss you."

"I'm flattered."

"There's one on your tail; I'll get it." He shot down another plane.

"And that is why I miss you."

"Why is that exactly?"

"Who else has my back, Q?"

"I _am_ the very best. Dive." Their planes went into twin drops. "What would you do without me?"

"I did manage for the first half hour. You had me thinking I had been stood up."

"Sorry. I'm a bit overloaded at work."

"No matter. Do try not to be late next time."

He smiled. "Can't play without me, E?"

She gave an exaggerated sigh. "It's just not the same, Q."

He chuckled.

In a little under an hour, the game was almost over. The other players had signed off, gunned down, leaving only Q and E.

"Are you prepared for annihilation?" Q's hands moved like lightning across the keyboard.

"Catch me if you can."

They swooped and weaved through the sky, each deftly dodging the others' attacks. Then Q cut the engines for a moment, dropping beneath E and coming up behind her. In a matter of seconds, he had blasted her out of the sky.

"Bugger," E muttered. "I'll have you next time."

He smirked. "You won't win my crown so easily."

"I've done it before," she chirped.

"Do your worst."

"Meet me on the battlefield at 10 o'clock sharp tomorrow evening. We'll see who triumphs."

He laughed, then fell quiet. There was a feeling building in his ribs that felt something like the darkness in his apartment and the static of the headset. "Have you ever thought about having a real meeting, E?" He spoke softly, as though the thought was premature.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean a face-to-face meeting. We've known each other for over a year now, but we've never actually met." He paused, and his voice dropped, wavering slightly: "Would you like to meet for coffee sometime?"

She was quiet, and the static expanded in his ribs.

"I think that would be nice. When?"

A smile pricked his face. "How about Saturday at 11:30?"

She puffed into her headset. "Where should we meet?"

"There's a café by Greek Street and Romilly Street that's quite good."

"How will we recognize each other?"

Q paused, leaning back and tilting his head to the side. "Wear a flower in your hair."

He heard a small noise like a snigger. "And if there are other women with flowers in their hair?"

"Then rescue the bloke that tries talking to all of them."

She laughed. "Alright, I'll see you on Saturday. G'night, Q."

"Good night, E." Q took off the headset, turned off his laptop, and trundled to his bed. He collapsed on the covers, still in his work clothes, and was immediately submerged in a dream.

…

"Do you have somewhere to be?"

Drat. Bond had noticed him checking his watch while he was supposed to be showing Bond possible upgrades for his new car. Showing Bond the schematics was a formality (they both knew he didn't understand the technicalities), it was already 11:20, and Q was hoping to make it to the café.

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"Then summarize."

Q began closing out of computer programs. "You can either have a thermal imaging device installed in your GPS system, a radiation sensor in the rearview mirror, or retractable claws on the tire rims. Your choice."

"Claws." Bond headed for the door. "And I'd like another radio."

Q smiled. As soon as Bond was gone, Q left his office and headed above ground. He blinked in the harsh sunlight and set off briskly through the crowds of London's sidewalks. Oh, how he preferred his underground office: cool, dark, quiet, and with less people bumping into him.

At 11:29, he reached the café. Brushing his mop of black hair away from his glasses, he looked around for E. Then he spotted her: a woman sat alone at a table in the corner, a chrysanthemum tucked in her blonde hair. Q ambled over, hands in pockets, and stood in front of the table. She looked up at him, flicking her bangs away from her glasses.

"Are you E?" he asked, smiling hesitantly.

"Q?" A lop-sided smile spread across her face. She stood and held out her hand. "It's wonderful to finally meet you."

"You too." He shook her hand, and they both sat down. E had light green eyes and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. She wore a lilac turtleneck sweater under a jacket. "I like your choice in flower. Chrysanthemums are used for tea in East Asia. It's not my favorite, but it isn't awful."

"You've been to East Asia?"

"No, I don't like flying. The tea was a gift."

"Would you want to go?"

He shrugged. "A trip by boat might take too long."

She laughed. "Have you ever left England?"

"I took a train to France once. I prefer England, though. And we don't get many vacation days in my field. "

"I can imagine."

A bashful look flitted across his face.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't trying to harangue you; I just meant we're in the same boat, so to speak. I don't get many days off either."

He nodded understanding.

A waitress appeared at their table. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"I'll have Earl Grey," Q said. The waitress nodded and turned to E.

"Jasmine tea, please."

"I'll be right back with those." The waitress walked away.

Q looked at E incredulously. "Jasmine?"

"I like it."

"It's so flowery though."

She raised an eyebrow and smirked. "And what do you prefer?"

"Earl Grey."

"Anything else?"

"No."

"You should try another tea some time."

Q wrinkled his nose. "No thank you."

She chuckled.

He folded his hands together. "So what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a cryptographer. I make encryptions for companies and their computers. What do you do?"

Bugger. He should have prepared for this. "Uhhhh." He looked down and ran a hand through his hair. "I develop software."

"Do you now?" A deep voice came from behind Q, a large hand clapped on his shoulder. Q turned to see a tall, heavyset man in a suit holding his shoulder. Two more were behind him. "I thought you were a designer."

The men shifted, circling the table.

"I suppose you could call me a designer." Q looked back at E, managing to fake half a smile. She shot him a questioning, nervous look.

"I could use your particular skill set, Q."

Q gulped. He shouldn't know that name. Only his colleagues and E knew that name.

"Why don't you come with me, and we can negotiate a business agreement." One of the men stepped behind E and set his hands on her shoulders. She flinched, her expression shifting to total alarm. "And bring your friend."

The man dug his nails into Q's shoulder and dragged him up. E was pulled to her feet and pushed towards Q. He grabbed for her hand, fingers slipping past hers before he was shoved towards the door.

"Let's go," the man whispered.

They moved outside, the man at Q's side and the other two flanking E. Q tried to glance over his shoulder to see E.

"Eyes forward."

They walked with a disjointed façade of casualness, a manner that would create little pangs of unease, a raised eyebrow or two, a lingering glance, and nothing more. They would slip by like sand through fingers. The static from the headset grew louder in his ears until the white noise shrieked. They were on the sidewalk now, moving quickly down the street.

There were too many questions:  
how did they find him?  
how did they know who he was?  
how did they know that name?  
why did they want him?  
how did they catch him?  
did they know any others?  
did they find MI6?  
did they find his home?

It was over.

And Q's vision pixelated into snow, the buzz of a broken screen, and all he could hear was white noise. It went on.

Then something thumped into his back, and the lights began to come back on in Q's head like the spark from a plug pushed into an outlet. He was stumbling, and something was stumbling with him.

"Q, what are we going to do?" E's voice was in his curls.

"Get up."

She was pulled away, Q was yanked to his feet. They kept walking.

Q's brain was rebooting: the neurons were firing, little electric impulses speeding up like gun shots, like machine gun fire, focused and few, and he knew: they had to escape. And he knew.

They were walking quite quickly. Q counted the steps to the second, calculated the time, drew vectors. E was a step behind; it would only take a little to get things rolling. He adjusted his glasses, swiped a spoon off a table, and stuffed it in his pocket. He quickly accessed his phone, tapping the keys by memory.

"Give me your phone."

He tried his best to look taken aback. "What?"

The man held out his hand. "It's in your pocket. Give it to me."

Q set the timer, locked the screen, and handed it to the man.

"What were you doing?"

"Making a call," he muttered. This was apparently sufficient explanation, as the man put it in his breast pocket and they continued walking.

5

4

Q tried to scoot over and backwards.

3

2

They rounded the corner, walking into a wave of people exiting the tube. He pretended to scratch his head.

1

A sound like a thousand shrieks and sirens erupted. He covered his ears, not fast enough to avoid a sharp pang in his head. People clutched their heads, squinted, looked around wildly, bent and twisted, and Q fell back into E, rolling between the men and the people. They somersaulted once, holding their heads. E's eyes were screwed shut.

"What's happening?" she huffed, glasses askew.

"Run, run." Q grabbed her hand and tugged her up. They scrabbled to their feet and took off. E was carried by Q's momentum, her feet barely tapping the ground as they sprinted down the streets, ducked through alleys. They could hear the men behind them, jostling, shouting, coming, hunting. They ran until it was silent again.

They turned into a side street. Q leaned over, hands on his knees, panting, while E slid down the brick wall, face in her hands. She began to shake.

"What the hell is happening?"

"I can't explain right now. I need a payphone," Q muttered.

E pushed her glasses up her nose. "No, no, I'm going home. I'm going home right now."

Q whipped around, running his fingers through his hair. "You can't go home."

"Why?"

"I can't explain right now. I need to make a call."

She arched an eyebrow. "I don't think now is the time."

"I will explain later," he shouted, waving his hand through the air. She dropped her gaze, drew her knees closer. He sighed. "I'm sorry. Right now, you need to come with me. If you don't, those men will find you again."

He held out his hand and pulled her up.

"As soon as I know we are safe, I will tell you everything," he spoke softly. "Until then, do everything I say."

"Alright."

They turned back onto the sidewalk and walked until they found a telephone booth. Q opened the door and motioned for her to step inside. She obliged, and he closed the door behind them.

"Watch for the men."

She nodded, leaning against the wall of the booth, her crossed arms brushing his side. Q pushed a few coins into the slot and dialed. E watched as he fidgeted nervously, twisting the cord around his hand as he waited for the other person to pick up. Then he dropped the cord.

"Bond."


End file.
